


Rain on Canaan

by NinthTrash



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Gen, Multi, Rain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinthTrash/pseuds/NinthTrash
Summary: When it rains for the first time on the First House, necromancers and cavaliers react accordingly.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. It's the End of the World As We Know It- Ninth House

**Author's Note:**

> ~Tell me, Baby, can you stand the rain?~

Thunder always came before rain, and lightning always came before thunder.

Gideon studied this unfamiliar atmospheric marvel as she stood with her nose smashed against the darkened glass of the Ninth House chambers.

At the conclusion of their third day at Canaan House, Gideon's circadian rhythm had finally caught up with the idea that 24 hours could be spliced into varying stages of sunlight. Except for this day, which stubbornly remained as gray and gloomy as the balmiest vacation spot in Drearburh. The Ninth House cavalier couldn't deny that it felt a little homier to view her surroundings in a monochrome filter; however, she wasn't expecting the lack of sunlight to escalate into now what she was pretty sure was Rapture.

If the brewing storm outside was any indication as to what was transpiring, His Supreme Necrolord Prime was probably on his way to conduct a little impromptu intervention with his aspiring-Lyctor buddies and their bodyguards. The most holy and gracious Master Over the River was also probably wearing some very heavy footwear or had an upset stomach as he made his descent, because the rumbling and low booms were growing steadily louder.

Gideon held her breath as she placed both palms against the smooth, cool glass of the window overlooking the vast ocean. Wind whipped at the foam-tipped waves until the whistling sounded like a reedy banshee wail that made the cavalier shiver in trepidation.

Whatever the phenomenon outside was, it was moving in fast. In response to the mounting panic that triggered the desire to run (she never ran, as a rule), Gideon pulled away from the window and drew a frowning face into her breath's foggy leftovers.Their rooms were nearly pitch black with only a few stray candles that dripped wax in runny globs as their orange flames flickered in a poor attempt at illuminating the large space. Following the cue from her stomach's growling and the fact that she had only eaten two meals proper that day, the cavalier could safely guess that the time would read 'dinner o'clock'.

A sudden, startling bright crack streaked across the sky and for the first time in her dismal eighteen years of life, Gideon felt compelled to fall to her knees.

The Creator of Worlds had surely arrived and Harrowhark Nonagesimus wasn't even here to witness it.

The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House was too busy being a mysterious and aloof creep haunting Canaan House's hidden depths...only returning to fling herself dramatically onto the musty bed and remain unconscious for undisclosed lengths of time. The thought of her necromancer missing out made a smug grin tweak at Gideon's lips before her vision was blinded by another bolt of buzzing white light ripping through blackened clouds.

Gideon flinched when a louder rumble sounded right above her head that was answered with another stunning flash that extended from the heavens to the churning ocean itself. For a fleeting moment, the cavalier thought that maybe she should go retrieve her Lady...not that was she worried for her well-being, of course, but because maybe she could offer Harrowhark up as tribute to quench the raging elements outside.

Gideon permitted a final glance out the window, peering over the tops of her sunglasses before deeming 'Mission: Sacrifice Nonagesimus to For the Greater Good' an appropriate plan of action. Her dark reflection mirrored back a very reassuring 'double finger-guns' pose before she saw herself out.

Bone-bead curtains adorned with toe bones and finger bones and other littler bones, that Gideon could probably name if she was extra bored, rattled as the cavalier sauntered out into the dark hallway that served as an antechamber to the Ninth House rooms. She didn't glance twice at the bone shrine decorations her necromancer had summoned to try and scare away any unwanted visitors or ne'er-do-wells.

Turn to the left, turn to the right, Gideon paused mid-step and had to backpedal after accidentally bypassing a corridor that she had misplaced in her mental map. She carefully hopped over a weak spot in the polished wooden floor that would surely splinter apart and injure an unsuspecting ankle. She kept one hand steady on the hilt of her rapier.

There were many corners of Canaan House that remained unexplored; rooms gathered weird static energy that seemed to linger in spaces that had been abandoned for what she assumed was like, hundreds of years. It was hard to explain, but Gideon's gut churned with a growing sense of unease as she set up a spiraling set of stairs two at a time before rounding a final corner.

Further down the white-washed brick corridor yawned an archway that led out to a secluded balcony. The temperate gale whistled louder at this height and her nose burned with the heavy scent of salt water.

If blue had a smell, it would smell like this.

The Ninth House lacked color- so everything in Canaan House was an assault on Gideon's senses from the moment their shuttle rocketed into the planet's orbit. Blue was the gradient between the clear sky and the rolling waves. Blue was the color of Dulcinea's eyes that didn't match the aqua hue of the frills on her dress, stained with blood. Blue was the smell of fizzling air as a lightning bolt tore through the stormy sky followed by another growl of thunder which pierced her eardrums (Gideon had read about lightning and thunder before in her comics and using the scientific method she hypothesized that these were the real deal).

It was dark enough that the cavalier was compelled to remove her stylish sunglasses and carefully tuck them away down her bandeau before striding down the remaining hallway to gaze upon the unleashed apocalypse. Maybe her flaming red hair would serve as a beacon for the Necrolord in his quest to reap his faithful.

In response to that stupid thought the sky began to weep.

Sudden splattering droplets on the paved ground made her freeze and draw her rapier in one fluid motion as her back pressed firmly to the inside of the archway.

The balcony was a small space fenced in by a rusted black iron railing to keep guests from taking an easy tumble down onto the craggy rocks below. A cluster of low drooping trees appeared to dance to the musical flourishes of wind and accompanying percussion clashes of thunder and waves. Somewhere behind her in the hallway a disturbed ' _plink_... **plonk**... _plink_ ' of water began to drip from the ceiling.

This was rain. It didn't rain on the Ninth planet. There was wind, sure, kicking up dirt and grit to sting Gideon's eyes when she jogged around the compound. When the skeletons amassed and marched for the First Bell it was almost comparable to the distant booms of thunder. Hell, when Aiglamene smacked her hard enough Gideon could see spots as bright as lightning. But rain on this scale was overwhelming. Her grip on her rapier slackened and she had the good sense to sheathe it again.

She felt a burst of adrenaline swell up within her and she desperately wanted to go into the storm.

So she did.

It was very _wet_. Gideon tilted her neck back so that her hood could fall from covering her head, giving her full view of the sky above. Whorls of wispy grey clouds puffed out and spit rain down upon the First House and its hodgepodge cast of characters. With a crescendo of trills, lightning streaked close enough overhead that her red hair stood up on end. Thunder crackled into the marrow of her bones. The pouring rain soaked through her cloak down to her clothes and goose-pimpled skin.

Golden eyes squeezed shut as water streamed down her face and through her hair. The spittle of ocean water stained her lips but it did not stop her from opening her mouth wide to taste. She gargled sea, rain, and face paint before playfully spurting the unholy concoction out between her pursed lips. Warm gushes of wind whipped at her drenched black garb and she felt gloriously light enough to be blown away into the stormy sky and heavy enough to sink down to the sandy trenches of the ocean.

Her reverie was broken when Gideon yelped in reaction to another roaring thunderclap which jostled her thoughts.

"Alright, alright, Most Holy Primelord Necro-dude, I hear ya! I'll make my exit! I'll deliver the Lady of my house and you can do whatever you'd like to her- just promise to not destroy us all before then." Holding up her hands in a sign of forfeit, the cavalier retreated from the balcony to the drier confines of the hallway.

Luckily for her, Harrowhark Nonagesimus wouldn't be terribly hard to find since the prodigal necromancer stood with her brittle arms folded over her chest and a disapproving sneer plastered on her lips. Swathed in layers of robes and looking like a small black rain cloud, Harrow took a quick step back as Gideon's dripping bulk left a considerable puddle on the already puddled floor.

There was an icy moment of silence between the girls as Gideon's eyebrows quirked up expectantly and Harrow's mind was churning to try and manufacture an appropriate response to her cavalier's obvious lapse in sanity.

"You realize how idiotic you look, Griddle."

"I thought the world was ending, you can't blame me for being curious."

"You're dripping wet."

" _That's what she said._ "

That seemed to offend Harrow so personally that the bone witch could only spat out ' _EUGH_ ' before turning on her heels to march away. Gideon followed obediently, her longer strides making it so that her necromancer would have to double step to put distance between them.

The Reverend Daughter would surely croak if she was forced to perform any sort of physical exercise. That meant that her cavalier could spray her with a shake of crimson hair and disgracefully smear rain-streaked face paint into abstract globs of gray mush as the Ninth House retreated to their private room. It was all worth it to watch the smaller girl squirm.

Inside their chambers, the storm wasn't nearly as interactive and exciting. The never ending staccato of raindrops on the rooftop over-stimulated her already bullied brain into the beginnings of a migraine.

As she lay buried deep in her cocoon of blankets with a pillow thrown over her head in an attempt to muffle the elemental chorus outside, Gideon relished in listening as her necromancer slammed the door to their chambers with a final ' _EUGH_ '.

She had been waiting to use that filthy joke for years and could finally thank Necrolord Prime himself for the opportunity to inflict it unto none other than

Harrowhark Nonagesimus.


	2. Hey, I Hope it's Sunny Wherever You Are- Eighth House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Here comes that rainy day feelin' again~

Colum Asht knelt in supplication before his necromancer when they began their daylight prayer. The hands resting on his shoulders were delicate, but held him in place with an intimate pressure.

Meditative silence was common in the House of the Eighth. The foreign sounds of Canaan House were heretical in their nature- wood floors moaning under step and gushes of wind whining against the windows.

Silas Octakiseron stood remarkably still before his cavalier when they began their daylight prayer. The shoulders underneath his hands were corded muscle; his cavalier modeled from clay, tailored specifically for this purpose.

The morning ritual began.

_"Let the King Undying, ransomer of death, scourge of death, vindicator of death, look upon the Nine Houses and hear their thanks."_

The Eighth House celebrated the dawn with prayer. Sacred and unbroken, pure as the sun rising. Thankful for another day granted to them to fulfill their divine purpose. All to please the Emperor. 

Today it rained, and they would be thankful for rain.

Silas inhaled deeply, which made his shallow chest rise and fall along with the steady cadence of the prayer and the soft smattering of rain against the window above.

Canaan House has provided the Eighth's adept and his necromancer with airy rooms and wide, ornate windows set with a rainbow of stained glass. 

_"Let the whole of everywhere entrust themselves to him."_

Even kneeling, the top of Colum's head was level with his adept's sternum. When Silas looked up to the heavens, Colum looked straight ahead. He had memorized every silver filigree scale and knows how his face looks reflected, distorted, in Silas' chest piece. As was Colum, it was made for him.

_Let those across the river pledge beyond the tomb to the adept divine, the first among necromancers._

His sacerdotal master's grip tightened minutely and Colum braced for the siphoning.

It is an instinct, a reaction that vanquishes thought, his soul quivering in anticipation.

He can taste it first- sharp lacerations down his tongue bleeding invocation into his stomach and mingling with his acid.

This is their devotion. This is Silas' devotion as he burns through Colum like white flame to a dead tree. This is Colum's devotion as he burns from within into holy submission.

Silas continues the prayer as Colum fades.

_Thanks be to the Ninefold Resurrection._

Colum continues to silently pray as Silas radiates.

The words are water in his ashen throat. The words entice him to not cross The River, though the water there is sweet as nectar, and he is parched.

_Parched_.

But Silas's intercession commands his return, and Colum always obeys.

_Thanks be to the Lyctor divinely ordained._

"I command you, return," Silas' voice is so far through the haze...but Colum knows his way.

_He is Emperor and he became God: he is God, and he became Emperor._

When Colum Asht opens his eyes, he is momentarily blinded by white.

Silas Octakiseron removes his hands from his nephew's shoulders and keeps his eyes closed in reverence at the closing of the prayer.

Colum knows that when the Eighth's adept obtains Lyctorhood, his beautification will blind the heavens.

Haloed behind his uncle's enraptured face was the window, stained glass dyed crimson. Dripping down the glass pane, the rain turned to blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Nicole realizes how much she hates the first 'h' in 'eighth'. Super gross! But I enjoyed writing this one- a bit more serious in tone. Thank you for all of your kudos and comments :)


	3. Come Rain or Come Shine- Fifth House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~But I'm with you always, I'm with you rain or shine~

"Dance with me, for old times sake?"

"You really don't know what 'old times sake' means, Magnus...we dance every time it rains..."

That doesn't stop Abigail from indulging her husband by grasping onto his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead her out onto the veranda.

A slow, low, steady downpour had been falling on Canaan House for several hours without any signs of relenting.

Abigail Pent had appreciated the white noise as she sat at the rot-addled mahogany desk and meticulously composed party invitations. She had brought her nice stationary for this specific purpose.

Together for eleven years of matrimony; their steel anniversary.

Steel for Magnus Quinn' ornate rapier and steel for the nine miraculously matching sets of cutlery Abigail had wrestled from the skeleton servants in the kitchens.

Magnus claimed he felt eleven years older that morning, turning to his side in front of the standing full length mirror in the corner of their room and pushing out his gut.

The mirror had tiny cracks that couldn't tarnish his wide grin at his wife's reflection behind him as she rolled her eyes.

Abigail agreed that she felt eleven years wiser. And with the silver hair on her comb that morning, older as well. She had three great loves in her life- her necromancy, her husband, and her baking.

Her whole life had been dedicated to studying antiquated lore and endless lectures of her people's history. Communicating with ancestors and those spirits dwelling before the River.

For the values of the proud Fifth House, for tradition and debts to the dead.

There was a responsibility in upholding the nine planets and the blessed Undying God, praise be his name; vying for the 6th Houses' monopoly on books and records, guiding the 4th House in their devotion and sacrifice for the Emperor, and ultimately- achieving divine Lyctorhood. 

But for now, something as simple as dancing with her husband in the rain felt like a most pressing matter.

Magnus' playful laughter interrupted the steady pattering of rain on the faded terracotta tiles under their bare feet. With her fingers still clasped in his warm, familiar hand, Abigail laughed too.

She twirled out once and her khaki skirts floated up, and when she curled back into her husband's awaiting arms they twisted around her ankles. Magnus always was the better dancer.

Even as rain soaked through their clothes and slicked down their hair, they danced to a duet of soft humming. A distant song of home and celebrations...of eleven years of marriage.

Abigail peered up at the pale grey sky through her foggy glasses and let water stream down her face. Magnus' expression softened and he kissed her.

The couple continued swaying slowly as they held each other close, humming their love song, and looking forward to spending the next eleven years dancing in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart belongs to the Fifth <3 Please let me know if you're enjoying these so far! Thanks for the kudos and comments!

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was glued to my brain for a week now and I needed to get it out! Future chapters will each feature a different house.


End file.
